Psych: Last Man Standing
by spookysister7
Summary: Carlton Lassiter hunched behind a rotten log. The dead and dying were scattered around him. People he knew and worked with. One minute, everything was fine. The next, they'd been lured out into the woods and slaughtered.


Summary: Carlton Lassiter hunched behind a rotten log. The dead and dying were scattered around him. People he knew and worked with. One minute, everything was fine. The next, they'd been lured out into the woods and slaughtered.

**Psych: Last Man Standing**

Carlton Lassiter hunched behind a rotten log.

The dead and dying were scattered around him.

The woods behind the station were littered with bodies. People he knew and worked with.

Officer Allen.

Detective McHale.

The Chief.

He couldn't believe she was gone.

It had happened so fast. One minute, everything was fine. The next, they'd been lured out into the woods and slaughtered.

Everyone had fallen for it.

There was no way to get back inside, back to safety. The clearing between the woods and the station was just too wide. Crimson-soaked bodies lay like neon signs, warning of the folly of trying that route.

Even he, Head Detective, was foolish enough to get stuck out here.

"Carlton?" O'Hara whispered, her fingers weakly gripping his sleeve.

He looked back at her.

She'd been shot. Her shoulder was a mass of dripping red, hastily covered by his undershirt. It wouldn't hold up for long.

He didn't have to miss. He'd shown that many times in the last hour. But he had, sort of.

Had it only been an hour? It felt like a lifetime.

"Go," O'Hara urged.

Carlton knew it wasn't safe to stay in one spot for too long. He knew that at any moment, the crosshairs would be lined up across his chest.

But how could he leave her? She was defenseless; incapable of firing her weapon that dangled uselessly from her numb fingers.

"Take my ammo," she whispered, "Take him out."'

One man. He was just one man. And he'd taken out practically the entire department.

He'd only wounded her to slow him down. He knew that Carlton wouldn't leave his partner behind. He'd counted on it.

He should have known better. O'Hara was stronger than that.

With a nod, Carlton took most of her ammo, leaving her enough to fire a few shots to defend herself, and went to hunt him down.

He'd stop him. He had to. It was the only way to save his partner and whoever else was left alive.

-000-

More dead.

Carlton picked carefully around the bodies, trying not to disturb even a blade of grass.

He could pick up the slightest trail.

Officer Sanchez had discovered that the hard way. He'd been determined to help Lassiter in his hunt. He was gone.

How many were left now? Not many. There couldn't be this many bodies and have anyone left alive.

Maybe he'd started killing civilians, too.

"Detective Lassiter!" he called out, his voice sing-songy.

Carlton swallowed, his back stiffening as he turned.

The man grinned at him, standing in the small clearing he'd just passed through so carefully.

McNabb was on his knees in front of him, the man's gun pressed against his ribcage.

Lassiter raised his weapon.

"Let McNabb go," Lassiter ordered.

The man shook his head, grinning.

"Uh-uh, De-tect-ive!" the man said, "Drop your weapon."

Buzz looked at him, his eyes wide and trusting.

Lassiter frowned. He couldn't lower his weapon. He couldn't let him get away.

McNabb nodded, swallowing hard as he raised his head.

Good man.

Lassiter shot.

There was a grunt of pain and a splash of crimson.

McNabb fell to the ground, face down.

The man disappeared into the woods before Lassiter could take a second shot.

But it didn't matter because Lassiter was frozen, a look of horror flitting over his face.

He'd shot McNabb.

The big puppy of an officer, always looking up to him, and he'd killed him.

And he'd still gotten away.

-000-

The icy touch of cold metal against his spine froze him in his tracks.

It wasn't possible.

"Tut-tut, De-tect-ive," the man drawled, seemingly as at ease as he would be at a Sunday picnic, "You lose."

Lassiter shuddered, the weapon limp in his fingers.

This was it. He was dead.

The man pulled the gun from him and urged him forward, the barrel of his weapon nudging sharply against his kidneys.

"Why don't you just shoot me?" Lassiter snarled as he stumbled forward, mind spinning.

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe someone could…

"You're the last one. Have to make it special," the man said happily, shifting the gun slightly higher as they weaved around the bodies.

The last one. Everyone else was… dead.

Everyone except O'Hara.

Maybe she was still out there. Maybe she'd…

Lassiter's stomach sank as they neared the clearing.

The log they'd hidden behind was highlighted by a splash of gold.

O'Hara's blonde hair fanned across the dark wood, her body draped serenely, the gun still dangling from her fingers.

"No," Carlton breathed, nearly falling to his knees.

He shouldn't have left her.

He'd left her to die.

"A little further," the man urged impatiently, looking around for just the right spot.

At the edge of the clearing, they stopped.

The man pushed him down on his knees before him, the gun resting between his shoulder blades.

"Any last words, De-tect-ive?" the man asked, the grin in his voice evident.

Lassiter didn't answer him, shaking with fury.

"No? Oh, well."

The leaves crackled beneath his feet as the man took a step back, and Lassiter could feel the crosshairs line up over his heart.

A shot.

Lassiter winced, hunching forward as he anticipated the flash of pain.

Nothing.

The heavy thud of a body falling had him on his feet, twisting around in the same movement.

The man lay face down in the dirt, a splash of red directly below his left shoulder blade.

He was dead.

But who…

Lassiter followed the bullet's trajectory, meeting O'Hara's grimly triumphant smile.

"Nobody shoots my partner," she said emphatically, her gun tumbling to the ground as she leaned tiredly against the log.

Lassiter laughed shortly and limped over to his partner.

"Playing dead? Nice touch," Lassiter complemented.

O'Hara waved away the complement.

"Just glad I could have your back," she muttered, "Now, do I have to say it or will you?"

Lassiter moaned.

"I saved you. You owe me," O'Hara reminded, untying the undershirt from her shoulder and examining the damage with a wince.

"Fine," Lassiter groused, straightening.

With a deep breath, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Olly, olly, oxen free!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the woods.

Before the last word faded, the dead came to life.

Bodies rose from the ground, complaints rising with them.

"My back's killing me."

"I think an ant bit me."

"I'm going to have bruises."

"You shot me!" Gus accused, shoving Shawn.

"I shot everyone!" Shawn defended, spinning in circles to try and see the paint on his back.

"Not everyone," Lassiter said with a satisfied smirk.

Shawn stopped circling and glared at his girlfriend.

"Only because my _girlfriend_ shot me in the back!" he said, pouting at Juliet.

"You shot me first, Shawn," Juliet reminded, pointing to her 'wound'.

"I just winged you!" Shawn insisted, "You killed me!"

"You shouldn't have threatened my partner," Juliet said with a grin, glancing over at Lassiter.

"Well, at least I didn't kill a hostage. Learn that from Speed, did you De-tect-ive?" Shawn drawled.

Lassiter rolled his eyes but didn't comment.

McNabb loped by and waved, eager to get inside.

"So, O'Hara, what do you feel like for lunch?" Lassiter asked as he strode towards the station.

Shawn groaned loudly and Lassiter heard Gus punch him.

"I told you not to make that stupid bet! Now we have to feed the whole station!" Gus said angrily.

"Aw, come on, Gus, we can have hot dogs or something, right?"

"I feel like lobster," O'Hara said definitively.

Lassiter grinned as Guster hit Spencer again.

According to the bet, it was winners' choice.

"Steak sounds good," Lassiter said.

O'Hara glanced up at him with a vengeful smile.

"Surf and turf it is, then."

-000-

**AN**: Felt like something fun today. Tell me what you think!


End file.
